


Do You Need Someone? (or do you need me?)

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Smut, They love each other, Tumblr Prompt, but they're idiots about it, oneshot turned multichap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4079620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It becomes a thing between the two of them. She would find him more often than not, with her bottom lip between her teeth and a slight spark in those big blue eyes and he knew immediately he was fucked (pun intended).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. take what I can get

**Author's Note:**

> I actually liked how this drabble turned out so I've decided to post it (and cross my fingers that other people think it's good too) Title taken from a song of the same name by Matthew Mayfield because I'm an unoriginal little shit.

The first time it happens he wants to throw his head back and laugh one of those laughs that take root in your stomach with its branches waving lazily in your chest as the leaves bubble through your lips one by one leaving you breathless.

He wants to laugh, but it’s hard to do so when Clarke has him pinned against a tree with her lips viciously assaulting his and stealing his breath in the best of ways.

He wants to laugh because it’s so clichéd, so predictable, so _obvious_ that he wonders why neither of them had the good sense to instigate it before.

(Okay, so maybe he had wanted to do it before, but he wanted far more than just sneaking around in dark corners for a twenty minute escape that left them both flushed and sated for the time being.) (Bellamy had long come to terms that despite what Clarke may say he wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of a good man, so he would take what he’s getting with his mouth shut- in the metaphorical sense of course; Clarke liked him better with his mouth open in these cases.)

It becomes a thing then between the two of them, something that happens almost every other day when they were stressed- and they were stressed a lot on this fucking shit hole of a planet. She would find him more often than not, with her bottom lip between her teeth and a slight spark in those big blue eyes and he knew immediately he was fucked (pun intended). Then, they’d be off as inconspicuous as possible to the nearest dark corner or empty tent or storage closet or even the council chambers that one time.

(She had purposefully tipped over her notes when the meeting ended and he had stayed back to help her pick them back up. He didn’t exactly know what she had planned, but soon enough she had one hand clenched in his t shirt and the other tangled in his hair, biting off a groan as he slipped his tongue in her mouth. One thing led to another and the next thing he knew, his head was between her legs and her head was tipped back in ecstasy.)

(It was one of his favourite memories)

So that was how things worked between them; when she called, he jumped and did whatever his princess required.

Octavia had sort of figured out what was going on about two weeks in and told him that he was whipped. Bellamy just shrugged and didn’t even bother to deny it; he knew that way before their relationship took on a physical aspect. He did throw a nut at her though, just to keep up appearances.

He never really sought her out however, even when he had a bad day, but somehow she just knew when he was upset and made it a point to show up in his tent after he had thrown himself face down atop his bed and slowly work out all the kinks from his sore muscles before mouthing her way across his shoulders until he felt limp and boneless and barely had the energy to roll over so her hips could snap into his.

Today she’d already pulled him into a cramped and dark closet after a council meeting this morning, though that was before he had a session with a group of wannabe guards that ended in disaster.

Like a giant fucking disaster.

He almost got shot twice and two of them thought it was hilarious that a former janitor was in charge of teaching them and decided to make his life more or less hell for the next three hours. Bellamy refrained from punching them, though just barely and only because it would show them that he wasn’t a fully capable guardsman. Yet it didn’t stop him from making them run extra laps, and he took a sort of vindictive glee in seeing them bent over double and out of breath. Still, he remained pissed off at the end of it, and by the time he showed up for the graveyard shift, the pressure behind his eyes had mounted in to a full blown headache.

Bellamy hated the graveyard shift. In all honesty, he thought it was unnecessary, especially when it was only four guards (half of which were always asleep anyway) and a live fence keeping everything out. Nonetheless, he merely gritted his teeth and showed up on time, spending the better part of the first hour pacing back and forth and the other two seated on an overturned crate, staring off into the still forest.

He’s about halfway into the fourth hour when he hears it; the dull clomp of her boots on the wet dirt that drifts over to him just a few seconds before she pops into his line of vision.

“Slouching around on the job, Blake?” she teases, leaning against the metal wall of the Ark next to him. Her hand comes to rest in his hair, stroking lightly in an almost soothing fashion.

Bellamy leans back into her palm with a soft sigh. “It’s not like I’m particularly busy right now, princess,” he says in turn.  
She purses her lips, her hand stilling for a short moment and, before he knows it, she’s gone and thrown one leg across his lap and is straddling him right there in the middle of the camp’s courtyard.

Bellamy practically chokes on his tongue, even as his hands automatically come up to grasp her thighs. “Clarke, what the fuck are you doing?” he hisses, glancing at his fellow guard out of the corner of his eye.

She laughs lowly and the vibrations he feel having her pressed up against him does interesting things to his body. Her fingers play with the zipper of his jacket for a moment before slowly pulling it down in a way that makes him want to groan. He settles for just digging his fingers into her thighs.

“He’s asleep; could’ve heard his snoring halfway here,” she replies easily, looking down at the zipper she held in between her fingers. “Are all guards this inefficient?” she teases gently before looking up at him, eyes wide and glowing and pink bottom lip clenched between her teeth, and this time he can’t hold back his groan, tipping his head back so he leant against the cool metal. She drags the zipper down the rest of the way before pushing it off his shoulders. It lands with a muffled thump against the ground and neither of them takes heed to it as her hands slip under his ratty threadbare t shirt, cool against his already heated skin.

Her nails scratch against his muscles, almost making them quiver and Bellamy has to take several deep breaths to gather his bearings before looking back at her. “Twice in one day?” he says, voice low and deep and the devil’s smirk pulled across his lips. Clarke clenches her thighs on either side of him and the smirk just grows bigger, fingers thrumming against her.

Not to be outdone, she rocks forward slightly, taking pleasure in the way he stiffens in front her. Her nails are still scratching against his skin and she flattens her palm against his stomach before pushing upward, taking the t shirt with them. Bellamy pulls it off in one quick movement.

“Guess it’s just your lucky day,” she murmurs before leaning forward to place a kiss right over his heart. She can feel his pulse racing beneath his skin because of her. She feels powerful.

“Anyone can see us.” His voice is strained and she can feel the vibrations against her lips.

“It’s the middle of the night,” she reminds him, mouthing her way up his sternum. “It’s dark.” His fingers dig into her thighs almost painfully and it sends a flash of heat through her core. “And cold.” Clarke rocks into him again and he sucks in a harsh breath. “And I haven’t seen you since morning.” She presses a chaste kiss to the hollow of his throat.

Bellamy doesn’t try to stop her again as she makes her way up his neck before dragging her lips across his jaw. During this time he allows his hands to climb higher up her legs until he’s grasping at her hips, thumbs dipped underneath the waistband of her jeans, almost pulling her flush against him. She places a small kiss to the corner of his mouth and the whole world stills.

She kisses him like she fucks: slowly, possessively, and controlling. Already he can feel the pounding in his head begin to recede and the stress slowly start to drip out of his body. Her mouth flutters open in a sigh when he begins to kiss her back and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, using it to coax out a groan or two from her, even as she twists her hand into his hair while the other digs into his bare shoulder. Another gasp floats pass her lips when he lets one hand skim up her side and squeeze her breast through her shirt. It just makes her press her mouth against his harder, moving them in a slow, torturous rhythm that, try as he might, she won’t be dissuaded from.

(He secretly loves her like this, not that he would ever tell; Clarke likes to tell everyone that he has a big ego but they way she would preen if he let slip just how easy it was for her to get him off would be damn near suffocating.)

A grunt escapes him when she grinds herself down into his lap again, and then, if that isn’t enough, she nips his bottom lip hard before sucking it into his mouth. It takes all of self restraint to not take her then and there. It’s like the two of them are oppositely charged, so wherever they touch, sparks fly. His blood is fire in his veins and it roars like storm in his ears when she grazes his lip with her teeth.

Without warning, Bellamy detaches his mouth from hers and almost smiles at her soft sigh of disappointment before kissing down her jaw and neck, letting his teeth scrape against her pulse so that he sends it skittering. Unlike him, she still wears her t shirt and he’s too caught up in all of this to pull back and let her take it off, so he merely pushes down the sleeve before biting into her shoulder. Her moan is one of the most beautiful things he’s ever heard in his life and if he wasn’t on fire before, he would definitely have been now. He lets his tongue flick out against her skin, tracing her bra strap twice before pulling it down with his teeth. She moans again and his blood sings.

He goes back to that spot on her shoulder, the one he bit before, and truly sinks his teeth into the skin before laving the stinging spot with his tongue. The brief flare of pain makes her pull on his hair and her legs to tighten around him. They’ve left marks on each other before, though it was usually thin, angry red claw marks down his back from her. Only a handful of times had he left a mark on her, and even then it was on her breasts or ribcage or the inside of her thigh. Never once has he left a mark somewhere as brazen as her shoulder, where her shirt only needed to be moved a quarter of an inch for everyone to see. A thrill shoots through him at the thought and he bites on the spot again, sucking hard. There would be a bruise there come morning. A spot the size of his mouth, angry and purple and standing out against her pale skin.

“Bellamy,” she sighs and her hand snakes around his shoulders to sloppily rub at the knots there. A groan falls from his lips. He moves on, letting his teeth brush across her collarbone and then places quick kisses, barely a feather brush of his lips, at the collar of her shirt. He lets his nose prod at her breasts through the worn material before kissing the available skin at the bottom of the V of the neckline.

He straightens back up, only slightly and lets his forehead rest against her, both of them panting and flushed. Her eyes are dark, lips red and swollen and he always thinks that she’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen when he gets her like this. One of his hands comes up to cup her cheek of its own accord and she leans into it. The scene is far too intimate for two of them, so without allowing any sorts of awkwardness to fully set in, Bellamy kisses her soundly before pulling back fully.

(He may have let his hand linger on her cheek for a second or two.)

“You should go to bed, Princess,” he sighs, resignedly, once again leaning back on the cool metal wall behind him, trying to get his heart rate down, trying to cool the fire that she ignited in his veins.

In all honesty, he expects to pout and say no or scoff and demand him to get back to it because she’s Clarke and she’s pushy and likes to boss him around because she _knows_ he likes her to boss him around. To his surprise though, she clambers off his lap and turns so that her back is facing him. Something akin to disappoint settles in his stomach and he tries to push it away. Tries.

“Fine, I’ll go,” she says. He watches her take all of three steps forward before she reaches down to yank her t shirt over her head and pelts it at him without looking. “Only if you join me, of course,” she adds before glancing over her shoulder with that damned look in her eye and lip between her teeth. Clarke doesn’t wait for a response and sashays across the yard in just her jeans and bra to her tent, leaving Bellamy gaping and clutching her shirt so tightly in his hand that his knuckles turn white.

A beat later he scrambles up, though not before grabbing his clothes from the ground and jogs after her, already loosening his belt.

(Nearly an hour later he could be found taking back up his position in that darkened little corner on the crate, feeling as boneless as Clarke was when he left her with a sloppy kiss on the cheek mere minutes before. His back feels like it’s on fire, but it just causes a lazy smirk to unfurl across his lips when he thinks about _why_.)

(He’s known that he’s been in love with her for a long time but it’s times like these when that love threatens to burst open his chest.)


	2. only ones who know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So no, it’s not the lack of clothing that wipes his mind and causes his mouth to go dry, but the fact that the t shirt she’s wearing- the one several sizes too big, the hem skimming the middle of her thighs and slipping off her shoulders- is the same one that he’s been missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't really intend on making this a multichap but here's a tumblr prompt that got a bi out of hand and had some callbacks to the previous one. It's longer and smuttier than intended and I have little to no regrets about that. (Also feelings! as an added bonus)

When someone only owns a total of three shirts, it’s not that hard to notice when one goes missing. Of course, Bellamy doesn’t have time to dwell on this- he’s already woken up far too late and he has a camp to help run- so he just pulls on whatever is on the top of the pile and tugs on his pants Clarke left lying in a crumpled heap by his bed before slipping out of his tent, resolving to sort of the mystery of the missing shirt later.

Except then he doesn’t. (His day is packed and then he has a graveyard shift and then Clarke came to visit him while he was patrolling for the graveyard and, well... he’s had a pretty shitty day and she came to make things a bit less shitty.)

Nor does he the next day. (There’s a council meeting to organise another hunting trip in a week or two that he’d be in charge of, more training with ungrateful bastards that he rather just shoot in the ass and then after dinner he finds himself on his knees in front of Clarke.)

And by the day after that he’s all but forgotten about it or done caring because he managed to survive all those months ago with only one shirt and a jacket without whining so he should be able to do the same now. After that, he more or less lets the topic drop from his mind and goes about all his duties as normal.

Nearly two weeks later he finds himself in the med bay late at night, swearing up a storm under his breath as he looks for the med kit Clarke swore she left on the table for him. Which table, she didn’t specify, but all in their make shift clinic are empty and he needs that med kit for the hunting trip that leaves at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow morning.

Running his hand through his tangled mess of curls, Bellamy swears out loud again and turns on his heel to leave the med bay, though not before sending a kick to one of the metal tables in frustration. He figures he causes more damage to himself than the table however, as his toes give a painful twinge.

She’s been on his ass all day about packing the fucking thing, reminding him whenever she saw him to ‘make sure you stop in the med bay and pick up the kit, Bellamy; you never know what might happen out there,’ and now when he actually has the time to do that, it’s not even there.

(Her concern would have been touching if she hadn’t been nagging him every ten minutes or so.)

Clarke’s tent is right behind the med bay. Unlike Bellamy’s, which is pretty removed from most people- or as removed as he can get in the camp- hers is smack dab in the middle of all the people who help out in the clinic, including her mother.

The flap to her tent isn’t knotted shut so Bellamy goes right ahead and pushes it open without announcing his presence, his frustration fuelling him to just stomp right in.

“Hey princess, have you seen the- oh,” he comes to a stop three paces into the tent, letting the flap fall shut without thinking of it.

The bare expanse of her back is exposed to him and she stands there in just a pair of fraying panties while throwing a raised eyebrow over her shoulder at him as she pulls a dark blue t shirt over her head.

It’s not her being in a state of undress that throws him for a loop- he’s seen in her with fewer clothes on than the t shirt and panties she’s currently wearing. Been over her, under her, behind her with her wearing fewer clothes than she is in right now. Hell, he’s undressed her more times than he could count, cataloguing each mark on her skin and probably knowing them better than she.

(He catches a glimpse of a fading purple bruise on the side of her breast when she turns slightly at his entrance and can’t help the smirk that pulls at it lips for a second before he swallows it down.)

So no, it’s not the lack of clothing that wipes his mind and causes his mouth to go dry, but the fact that the t shirt she’s wearing- the one several sizes too big, the hem skimming the middle of her thighs and slipping off her shoulders- is the same one that he’s been missing.

Any other time he would have barged in, probably yelled at her a bit for not leaving the med kit where she told him it was a million times, and then left without even batting an eyelash.

Now though.

Now his dick stirs at the sight of her in the too big clothing and fucking hell he shouldn’t be able to get turned on by just seeing her in his clothes.

One the other hand, Clarke is completely unphased by him barging into her tent while she’s getting ready, and goes about everything as normal, reaching up to untie her hair and shake it out.

Bellamy licks his lips. He wants to do nothing more than wrap the blonde locks around his fingers and tug in it to get her to moan.

Clarke turns around and he swears that his mouth gets drier than the fucking desert when his eyes fall on her exposed legs. He wants to push her up against the rickety desk in the corner that he made for her and drape them over his shoulders like she made him do all those weeks ago in the council chambers. She’d probably curl her fingers into his hair too, pulling hard when he sucks none too gently at her hipbone, but legs locking in place to keep him there-

“Have I seen the what?” she probes, effectively yanking from his fantasy.

Bellamy coughs slightly and shifts on the spot, hoping that the lack of light in the tent hides the fact that he’s half hard. “The med kit that you’ve been bitching about all day,” he replies, his voice only a slight bit lower than it usually is.

She purses her lips. “I gave it to Miller before I left the clinic. Figured you wouldn’t show up for it despite how much ‘bitching’ I do.” She rolls her eyes at him and he refuses to feel embarrassed about his previous comment.

“I was working, princess, I told you like ten times that I would come and get it when I was done.”

“Well forgive me for trying to make sure you guys don’t get too hurt out there!” she snaps back, folding her arms over her chest. He lets his eyes follow the movement and briefly wonders if the mark he left on her breast is sensitive to touch.

Instead of dwelling on that thought he pulls his gaze back up to hers and gives her the best asshole look he can muster. “Relax princess. We’ve all done this a hundred times already. No one is going to get hurt,” he says.

“This is the first time you’re going on a hunting trip in a month and a half, Bellamy,” she points out, gnawing at her bottom lip. “Anything could happen.”

His expression softens. “Clarke,” he says, voice still just as gruff as before, “I’ll be fine. Stop worrying about me. I’ve been doing this since before the grounders decided to play nice with us. I promise I’ll come back without so much as a scrape on me.”

She maintains her stoic gaze. “I’m holding to you that then, Bellamy Blake. If you come back with even a scratch then you are going to be in so much trouble.”

Bellamy smirks at her and deliberately lets his gaze slowly rake up her legs and torso before resting on her rather unimpressed expression. He takes a step closer and fixes her with a lewd look. “What kind of trouble?” he purrs, “Because I really don’t mind-”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” she drily asks, cutting him off. “You always complain about being so tired when you have to get up at the ass crack of dawn for these things.”

“This you kicking me out, princess?”

She gives him a hilariously over exaggerated yawn and he would have laughed had she not also stretched her arms over her head, letting the hem line rise a few inches. He thinks that he might’ve swallowed audibly, but he’s not too sure.

“Problem?” Clarke asks, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. She rakes her eyes over his form, pausing for half a second on the slight bulge in his pants before meeting his darkened gaze once more. She’s definitely noticed his slight bit of arousal now and it sends his blood pumping through his veins, hard and fast.

“Actually yes,” says Bellamy, taking a few more steps towards her until they’re an arm’s length from each other. He settles both hands on her hips. “Did you know that that’s my shirt?”

Her smirk widens ad she rocks forward on the balls of her feet to whisper, “Yes.”

“Hmm,” is all he hums in return and for a few seconds they just stare at each other before he lets his hands skim up her sides. Clarke’s eyes flutter shut as he slowly drags his palms over the delta of her waist and fucking shivers when his feather light fingertips trace the contour of her breasts through the fabric. “What _are_ you doing with my shirt?” he murmurs next to her ear, flicking his tongue over the shell when her hands come up to rest on his shoulders.

“You ripped mine, remember,” she breathes, tilting her neck to the side as her littered her skin with light kisses. “I told you to-” her breath hitched when he drags his teeth over of hammering pulse and his fingers tangle in her hair, “To hurry up and you pulled so hard all the buttons flew off.”

He does remember that actually. More so, he remembers the fact that they were interrupted at least twice that day that left them both frustrated and wanting until she finally snuck into his tent late at night and ordered him to pick up where he left off.

(He also remembers maybe being a bit too enthusiastic to comply, teasing her until she was very nearly at the edge before slowing down to let her need abate before starting over once more so that when he finally did let her topple over the precipice she all but passed out in his bed.)

“I fixed it back, didn’t I,” he groused against the skin of her collar bone while his other hand begins to creep up her thigh.

“Two days later,” she pants when he grazes the slightly damp fabric of her underwear. “When I woke up the next morning it was either I run across camp half naked or in one of your shirts.” She grinds down on the heel of his palm when she thinks he’s been teasing her too much.

He grins against her skin and pulls her head back by her hair so he could suck a line down her throat. Clarke groans at the harsh tug, rocking her hips against his hand once more. “It’s not like you haven’t done that before,” he mutters, thinking back to the time she stripped off her t shirt while he was on guard duty to lure him to bed with her and flounced back to the tent. One of her hands pinched his sides when she figures his hands have been too still between her thighs for too long and he retorts by biting her exposed shoulder. “Why’d you keep it then?”

“Because it’s comfortable,” she huffed, slipping a hand under his shirt and raking her nails across his stomach. “Now shut up and kiss me properly, dammit. There’s too much talking happening here.”

Bellamy pulls back almost completely from her, only the clenching of her thighs tightly around his hand keeping it there. She makes a noise of displeasure at his sudden departure and tries to pull him back towards her.

Instead, he uses his other hand to pry her thighs apart before he hooks a finger around the waistband of her panties. “Too much talking, huh?” he says slyly before dropping to his knees just like he wanted to since he walked in here. “Then how about I make you scream, princess?”

He’s already kissing up her thighs when she gets her head straight, one hand wrapped around her hip and the other still hooked around the waistband. “Fuck,” she hisses, and her hand comes to tangle in his hair. “You do realise my mother is sleeping in the tent right next door.”

She jerks forward when his nose brushes against her through her panties and Bellamy barely spares her a second glance. “I’d like to see you stay quiet,” he scoffs before sucking her gently through the fabric. Clarke keens, a high pitched sound that causes him to get harder. “It’s impossible.”

The hand holding her panties begin to drag them down and then all she can feel is Bellamy’s hot breath against her cunt. Her legs tremble and she can feel his smirk when he leans up to place a chaste kiss against her.

“I’m going to kill you,” she groans as he finally sets to work, slowly and thoroughly. Her grip is impossibly tight on his hair but all he does is moan appreciatively before diving back in with an increased fervour.

“You can do that later. If you want to. I’m thinking there’re a few reasons you’d like to keep me around,” he quips in return, voice slightly muffled because he refuses to move his mouth off her and the vibrations are doing wonderful things to her that cause her to moan out loud.

“Fuck you,” she replies through gritted teeth.

This time he does move away from her and she fucking whimpers. His eyes pupils are blown dark while his mouth is red and swollen and slick with her. It sends another pang of want through her, and when he says, “Oh, you can definitely do that later too,” with a wicked grin, she feels a rush of wetness start to drip down her thighs.

Bellamy lets the t shirt fall back down over her and ducks under it. She can no longer see him, but she can hear him and feel him and she’s pretty sure he’s all that’s keep her up right now. She ends up slapping a hand across her mouth to quiet her moans though it’s little help when he finally coaxes her to an orgasm and comes hard around his tongue.

“Told you I was going to make you scream,” he says, smug, when he’s finally scrambled back to his feet. Her eyes are half mast and she’s breathing deeply, trying to come back down to earth. There’s a flush extending from the apples of her cheeks to well under her shirt and he itches to get a closer look at it. All in all, she looks positively wrecked.

(Bellamy figures he’s not that far off; the effect she has on him is astounding at times)

“Shut up,” she says breathlessly before pushing him back on her bed, “Now it’s time for me to make good on what I said.”

He grins boyishly at her and helps her to get rid of his clothes.

* * *

The next morning he wakes up when the sky is watery pink and the sun is just peeking over the horizon. Clarke is curled around him, legs hooked around his middle, arms on his shoulders, and face nestled between his shoulder blades with her breath coming in hot spurts. He wants to stay there with her and just bask in the moment that is waking up next to her, something that doesn’t happen that often.

Unfortunately, he does have to get  move on, so he allows himself five more minutes with her arms around him, five more minutes with her hair tickling his skin and breath making him squirm, before gently untangling himself from her and sliding his clothes back on. He hesitates for a moment before grabbing the dark blue shirt and leaving the one he came with last night in its place for her.

Clarke gets up when he’s tying his boots and presses a light kiss to the side of his neck before resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re leaving?”

(Her voice is low and rough, gravelly from sleep and, god, he wants to wake up to this every morning it hurts.)

He lets himself press a kiss to her temple before standing up. “Yeah, I told them to meet me at the gates as soon as their done with breakfast. We’re due to leave in the next half hour or so.”

When she doesn’t say anything, he squints down at her and asks, “You good, Clarke?”

She jumps slightly and turns to face him with a sheepish look. “Yeah, sorry; got lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

“Alright.” For a moment neither of the say anything, just stare at each other, Bellamy with his hands curled into fists in his pockets and Clarke holding the blanket to her chest. There’s a reason staying the night after sex doesn’t happen that often between them. Things the next morning are just fucking awkward as they try to figure out where to go from there. Sex is one thing, sleeping the whole night together is another. Finally Bellamy chooses to break the silence by joking, “You going to escort me to gate, Princess?”

She rolls her eyes and a small smile creeps onto her face. “I’m naked and half asleep in bed.”

“Think of it as a parting gift to all of us,” he replies. Clarke snorts and he ducks his head to hide his grin. As he turns on his heel to leave he says, “I’ll see you around, Princess.”

“Wait.” A hand shoots out to stop him, gently curling around his wrist. He lets her pull him around, watching as she opens and closes her mouth a few times trying to find the right words to say. After almost a minute, she just huffs angrily before tugging him forward and capturing his lips with hers.

This kiss is soft and deep, unlike the many others that they’ve shared before. Clarke kisses him slowly and hesitantly, almost as though she’s unsure of herself, and he does what he always does: follows her lead and goes with it, kissing her back at the same unhurried pace and letting his fingertips tangle in the ends of her hair while she cups his face.

She breaks the kiss after what seems like an eternity but he keeps his eyes shut, even as she traces the planes of his face with her fingers.

“Be careful,” she breathes.

His eyes flicker open and he gives her a real smile. “Always am, princess,” he says before stealing another sound kiss and standing up. She still has a hand on his wrist and it drifts down to link with his. He squeezes it gently. “See you in a few days, Clarke.”

She squeezes back and then he’s gone from the tent, his fingertips tingling with the feel of her.

(He wants. He wants this so badly that it causes his chest to physically ache.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come fine me on tumblr at hiddenpolkadots!


	3. things we can't say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead, she leans down and captures his lips in another bruising kiss. hoping her actions speak louder than words ever would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's pov this time. Cheers to another round of feelings and sex.

Clarke doesn’t mean to kiss him at first- it was an honest to god mistake- but she is angry at her mother and all but stomps out of camp to go cool off by herself in the woods. Of course, she should know by now that he doesn’t really let her go outside the camp by herself (it’s not like he’s hovering or anything; she just flat out told him between cups of moonshine one night that she doesn’t trust anyone but him to have her back out there. He’d never forgotten) so it’s no surprise that a few minutes after she’s started kicking a fell tree, he shows up, rifle strung across his chest and ready to listen to her rant and rave until she’s hoarse.

Except this time it’s different.

This time she still does rant and rave until she’s hoarse but she’s also still left shaking with pent up anger and frustration because this time her mother chose to drag _Bellamy_ into their bi-weekly blowout.

(She tried to calmly suggest that Clarke take up some more of the council’s responsibility all in an effort to slowly phase him out because ‘he doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, Clarke, we should have someone with a bit more experience in this sort of position.’)

It would be the understatement of the year to say that that didn’t sit well with Clarke.

She relays all of that to him there in the clearing, slowly growing more and more hysterical. Bellamy just chuckles and tells her that he’s been dealing with shit like that since the Arkers landed; he’s long grown accustomed, but it’s nice to know that the princess is out there defending his honour. He places his hands on her shoulders, sliding them up and down her arms in an effort to comfort her.

She tells him that anyone who thinks she could do all of that on her own is an idiot because she needs him dammit. His lips curl up into a halfway smirk and he says ‘I know’ in that deep, gravelly voice of his that makes her stomach twist in the best of ways. She replies by quipping that if it wasn’t for him she’d have run of the tracks a long time ago and he tips his head back and laughs and, well. She reacts.

(His hands are warm when they stroke up and down her arms, stroking another type of warmth in her tummy. One that’s fuelled by his voice and when he laughs, she honestly can’t be held responsible for her actions because Bellamy doesn’t laugh that much so the sound has a blush painting her cheeks and something curling deep within her.)

Clarke pushes him back against a nearby tree and fastens her lips to his, catching the end of his laugh on her tongue and tasting bliss. Bellamy is a little slower to react, going still for a second before hesitantly banding his arms around her and licking into her mouth. She’s a little embarrassed that she mewls and pushes herself a bit more firmly to his body. Only a little embarrassed though.

They walk back to camp together half an hour after dusk. Bellamy has a leaf stuck in his hair and she’s fairly certain that her lips are red and swollen. They don’t hold hands or even talk about what happened, just go their separate ways with a nod and wry smile like they always do when he’s calmed her down enough that she’s not yelling at everyone who crosses her path.

They have dinner as normal, sitting side by side with the rest of their friends and when she leaves to get ready for the night he doesn’t even look up from the card game he’s playing with Miller. It’s all astonishingly normal and she falls asleep with only a mild amount of concern of how the impromptu make out session in the woods is going to affect their relationship.

He meets her for breakfast the next morning, passing her half of his apple because she’s griping about how they’re all finished. They still don’t talk about it. Clarke decides that if he’s not going to bring it up then neither shall she.

Her mother brings it up when she checks into the clinic after breakfast and starts readying herself for her rounds. She saw them when they came back last night and casually- or as casually as her mother can get- asks what’s going on between her and Bellamy. Clarke’s still pissed off at her and doesn’t offer any response.

She and Bellamy still don’t talk about it.

Her mother drops the topic in about three days.

Everything is normal.

(Mostly. She did gasp awake one night from a dream that featured Bellamy’s rather talented mouth somewhere else than on hers. That wasn’t really normal but she could roll with it.)

It’s maybe about a week later that it happens again. This time they’re both stressed, though Bellamy more so than her. He’s dealing with a new batch of cadets and sorting out the slowly- being- constructed cabins on top of having Abby pick an argument with the two of them this morning. They’re both in his tent, with Bellamy stretched out and Clarke sitting up with his head in her lap, gently carding her fingers through his hair.

(Bellamy Blake was like a damn cat, she was quick to learn, who absolutely adored to be petted, especially when he was upset.)

She could feel that he’s tense, despite the fact that they’ve been going back forth, talking about nonsense for at least half hour. Without thinking about it she leans down and pecks him softly. His eyebrows furrow and he looks up at her in slight confusion.

“Clarke.”

“Bellamy.”

He sits up and she twists so they’re facing each other. “What are you doing?” he asks.

She bites her lip and looks up at him through her lashes, eyes wide and innocent as she deliberates whether or not she should tell him. After only a few seconds of thinking, she mutters, “Fuck it,” and scoots closer so that she’s able to link an arm around his neck. His eyes widen just a bit. “I was planning on maybe making out with you again,” she says bluntly, the other arm slowly climbing up his side. “Maybe more.”

He makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat. “Right. Why?”

She shrugs. “We’re both stressed,” she offers as explanation.

“Ah. Okay.” Then his hand tangles in her hair and she’s not sure who actually moves first- if he leans down or she reaches up- but they’re finally kissing each other again and she’s fucking missed this which is rather pathetic considering they’ve only done ‘ _this’_ once before.

This time is better than the last because he’s not as hesitant as before, so it’s not long until his shirt is off and she’s clambering into his lap. His hands slip under her shirt tracing burning patterns into her skin and he nips at her jaw in appreciation. It’s great, really fucking great and when she feels him start to grow hard against her thigh, she grinds down on him without a second thought.

Bellamy pulls away from her mouth, panting and his hands slide towards her hips where they hold it tightly so she can’t do it again. “Clarke,” he says, voice sounding totally wrecked and making her squirm. A flash of self-satisfaction flits over his face for a moment at her reaction but it’s quickly replaced by an expressionless mask. “We should probably stop.”

The growing bulge in his pants and the fact that his eyes flick down to her lips every few seconds are just two signs that indicate that he _really doesn’t_ want to stop but she decides to humour him for a bit. She clumsily slides off his lap only to flick open the button of his pants before his face can properly twist into a crestfallen expression.

“Alright then. You can stop.”

His hand catches her wrist. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe-”

Her laugh bounces off the flimsy walls of his tent. “Bellamy, shut up.”

“Clarke-” his words die on his lips and he curses under his breath when she slips her hand in his underwear and tugs on him none too gently. Looking up at her through half lidded eyes he manages to take a deep breath and ask, “Why?”

Clarke leans forward, lips ghosting across his cheek so she could whisper, “You’re still stressed,” before tugging on his earlobe with her teeth and sinking to her knees in front him.

She’s not particularly skilled at giving head, but judging from the hand he’s woven into her hair that tugs ever so often and the appreciative groans and moans that spill from his lips, she doesn’t think she’s doing too badly. Afterwards, he collapses, spent, on his bed with an arm thrown over his eyes and still breathing heavily. She fixes his underwear back in place and zips up his pants, unable to keep a smirk from sliding into place.

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

“I didn’t say anything,” she replies, amused.

He moves the arm from across his face. The glare he gives her is weak and doesn’t really have any heat behind it. “Your smugness is suffocating.”

“I have every right to be smug.”

“Shut up,” he says again.

Clarke chuckles and lets her hand muss up his hair as she trails past him. His hand catches hers and holds it loosely as he says, “Wait. You sure you don’t want me to...” He trails off and makes a vague gesture towards her.

She can’t help but snort at that. “In this state you’d probably pass out before you got my pants off,” she jokes, though secretly glad that there’s no awkwardness between them. She ruffles his hair again and before she leaves the tent, pausing at the flap to carelessly throw over her shoulder, “You can just owe me.”

Like before, they don’t talk about it the next day but the day after that, when she’s almost passed out at her desk in the back of the clinic, he stands in the doorway with a fucking smirk on his face that already has her stomach tangling in knots and says, “Thought you died in here, Princess. Haven’t seen you since breakfast.”

She just groans pitifully in response and slumps down at her desk. He’s holding a plate piled high with food and a canteen, both of which he rests on the desk before turning towards her. “What happened?”

A yawn slips out before she knows it and she says, “Everyone chose the one day when I was by myself in here to get sick, or pull something, or cut something, or fucking set their hand on fire.” She stands abruptly and Bellamy has to step back to avoid getting head-butted by a tiny blonde. “Then some kids found a giant wasps’ nest somewhere,” she rolls her eyes, gathering a few jars of salve and putting them back in their respective places in a cupboard. “And apparently it isn’t common knowledge that you _shouldn’t throw rocks at a giant fucking wasps’ nest_.” She slams the door shut and moves over to the sink to start sterilising her utensils. “I swear to god the more things people discover on this damn planet, the dumber they seem to get.” She throws a scalpel in with more force than necessary, huffing.

Bellamy comes up behind her, sliding his hands up down her arms, and pinning her between the sink and his body. After a few moments, she finally slumps against him and he takes this opportunity to start peppering her neck with feather light kisses.

“You seem stressed,” he murmurs against her skin. The vibrations caused by his voice cause her toes to curl.

She tilts her head more to the side, giving him easier access. “Very,” she sighs softly. He gently nips at her pulse point, slowly fanning the fire within her to life. “Don’t leave a mark,” she warns, trying and failing to sound stern. Bellamy just bites her again, cheekily pinching her side as she attempts to swat him away. He listens to her nonetheless, and continues lightly mouthing up and her neck and jaw, never straying too close to her lips.

His hands move from where they’re laying on top of hers; one comes to band itself around her waist, pulling her so that their bodies are flush, and the other grips the snaps of her trousers. He’s gone back to being diffident in his movements, to the point where Clarke actually has to undo the clasp herself. When he finally slips his hand in, they both swear and she turns her head to bury it into the crook of his neck for a moment, kissing whatever skin is nearest.

It’s not long until he has her bucking against his palm and keening with her bottom lip between her teeth while he mutters all sorts of things in her ear. Clarke slumps, boneless, against him and it’s only the arm he has firmly around her waist that keeps up from collapsing to the floor. She feels as though she could probably melt into a happy little puddle right about then.

“Okay?” Bellamy asks when she finally catches her breath. She could practically hear the smirk in his voice and it made her want to roll her eyes and smile giddily at the same time. Instead she turns around and sloppily slants her mouth over his in a short but wet kiss, humming happily.

“Great,” she sighs, allowing him to pull her back to her desk.

“Good,” he pushes the plate of food towards her, “Now eat. Raven told me you skipped out on lunch today.”

“I was busy,” she protests, even as she grabs a potato wedge.

This is something Bellamy did often to both her and his sister and sometimes even Raven, though she threatened to dismember him with a screwdriver if her continued to. She’s usually the one it happens to most frequently due to the long and odd hours she has to put in at the clinic. It’s certainly not the first time he’s bringing her dinner, and it certainly won’t be the last.

They made small talk while they picked apart whatever it is he brought in on the plate, talking about their respective days and the goings on of the camp before splitting the canteen. He managed to sneak her some of that blackcurrant drink she loves so much and he hates from the kitchens and she smiles brightly at him before taking a huge sip. It’s just like any other time he stopped by to feed her except, as soon as the plate is clear and she recaps the now empty canteen, he pushes her feet off his lap and kneels down on the floor in front her, hands pulling down her jeans.

She squeaks at the sudden rush of cold air on her exposed skin and he grins boyishly at her even as his palms come up to warm her. “What are you doing?” she says, her breath hitching ever so slightly.

“Remember when you said I owed you?” He slowly pulls her panties down and the grin he gives her this time is positively wicked. She squirms when his thumb brushes dangerously close to her clit and the grin just widens. “It’s time for you to collect.”

And then no one is talking anymore because his mouth is busy between her legs and Clarke has a hand over her mouth to stop from making noises that would send someone to investigate.

That’s how it starts between them, and whatever bit of awkwardness there is between them is quickly dispelled. They don’t talk about it in public ever, but they do become more tactile and if anyone notices, they don’t say anything to the pair- except for Octavia of course. Clarke has no idea how, but she manages to figure out what the two of them are doing behind closed doors in less than two weeks.

(Okay, maybe she has some idea how. One of the first places she and Bellamy christened at the start of this- whatever it is between them- was the storage closet just down the hall from the council chambers. It was great fun sneaking around and getting each other off, but neither of them is particularly good at staying quiet, especially when he decides to go down on her. Clarke distinctly remembers him doing exactly that there before running off to meet his sister for lunch, which he was late for. Octavia couldn’t look them both in the eye for some unknown reason that evening but they both shrugged it off. Now it makes sense that she may have come looking for them and, well.)

At first, it’s just that. Just the two of them making out and maybe getting the other off on occasion until Clarke had enough of it. She and her mother had gotten into another argument concerning Bellamy on how she was thinking of relocating him to somewhere else and assigning her a new guard whenever she wants to go out of camp. She doesn’t trust Bellamy with her daughter and the argument that ensues is one of massive proportions that raged on until Clarke tells her that was bullshit and storms out, grabbing a nearby Bellamy on the way.

When they finally make it to her tent, Clarke doesn’t even start yelling like she usually does but instead grabs him by the neck and pulls him down for a rough kiss. One thing lead to another and before they know, they’re both naked and she wastes no time pushing him down on her tiny bed and straddling him.

(She wants to yell that he’s hers. Hers and no one else’s in every which way. She wants to shout it at her mother so she can finally grasp that he’s not going anywhere; he’s stuck with Clarke forever and she wouldn’t have it any other way.)

(She wants to tell him that she’s his but the thought scares her and it gets lodged in her throat.)

Instead, she leans down and captures his lips in another bruising kiss as she finally sinks down, fucking him deep and slow until their muscles are screaming and their skin is covered in sweat, hoping her actions speak louder than words ever would.

Only afterwards when they’re cuddled side by side underneath her ratty Ark issued blanket does she tell him what her mother said, almost on the brink of tears. She expects him to be angry at the very least, but he’s only so in the sense that she’s almost crying. Instead he gathers her against his chest and kisses her forehead, telling her that he’s not going anywhere.

(When she leans up to kiss him once more before they have to redress, she wonders if he can taste joy on her lips like she did when she first kissed him.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always willing to cry about these two on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr at hiddenpolkadots!


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